To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (35 page)

I immediately shot Michael a dirty look.

He shrugged his shoulders.
“My mother exaggerates sometimes,” he whispered.

“
Mike, no mushy stuff.” It
was the one called Patricia, barking in a loud, deep voice. She had
her father’s stern features and long nose, but her mother’s light
eyes and coloring.

Michael nodded to his
sister. “Pats, be nice.”

“
So, Nicci.” It was Aunt
Margaret, a taller, more slender version of Mrs. Fagles with
blonde, instead of red hair. “Ginny tells me you are studying
nursing. When do you finish?”

“
In May.”

“
She is hoping to start
looking for a job soon,” Michael jumped in. “I’m trying to talk her
into psych.” He possessively put his hands on my
shoulders.

“
Now why on earth would the
poor girl want to spend her day with a bunch of loonies, when she
already has you?” Pats laughed.

“
You’ve got a point there,”
I commented and the room broke out in light chuckling.

Michael maneuvered me to
the last available chair near the fireplace. He sat down, leaving
me to make myself comfortable on the arm of the chair, because
there was nowhere else to sit.

“
So how is your cousin?”
Mrs. Fagles asked. She was seated next to her sister and
brother-in-law on one sofa. “That was such a nice wedding. It’s a
shame that terrible accident happened near the end.” She turned to
Michael’s sister on the opposite sofa. “Kathy, Gallier Hall was so
sophisticated. I almost felt like a celebrity there. Oh, and you
should have seen the bridesmaids gowns. They were
beautiful.”

“
My cousin is very well,” I
stated, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you for asking, Mrs.
Fagles.”

The room broke up into
several conversations all at once. Pats was scolding her two
children for teasing each other. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Phil were
berating Pats for berating her children. Michael’s father was
asking me what I wanted to drink, while Kathy and Leanne were in a
heated discussion about wedding dresses.

Michael leaned into my
shoulder. “You kinda have to get used to the noise around here.”
Then, he turned to his mother. “When do we eat?”

Mrs. Fagles jumped to
attention and ran to the kitchen. In the dining room, adjacent to
the living room, there was a long table set with plain white china
plates on a blue and yellow tablecloth. I got up to help Mrs.
Fagles in the kitchen, but Michael held me to the chair, and
murmured, “She likes to do it herself.”

A few minutes later, we
were all corralled into the dining room. Little name cards had been
placed at each setting. My appointed spot was next to Michael’s.
Michael’s father sat at the head of the table with his grandfather
at the other end. We were served large helpings of spaghetti and
meatballs with garlic bread and iced tea.

Everyone ate quickly and in
silence. I managed a bit of spaghetti, and pushed a meatball around
on my plate. The sauce tasted like it came from a jar and the
meatballs were smothered in garlic. I noticed that Michael did not
eat very much, either. Every now and then, I could feel his hand
pat my thigh under the table. I presumed that meant I was doing
well.

After dinner, we left the
older adults at the table, drinking their coffee, and followed
Michael’s sisters and future brother-in-law into a back den.
Converted from a two-car garage, the room was big enough for a pool
table, an old-fashioned pinball machine, big screen television, and
a large armoire filled with board games.

“
Did he tell you he used to
hustle pool in the local bars?” Pats challenged, trying to hold her
round-faced son on her lap. The boy had big blue eyes and pale
blond hair. He must have been around seven, and did not resemble
his mother. The younger girl, however, did have her mother’s face,
but the eyes were the same large, blue spheres like her brother’s.
They were both very attractive children. I decided they must have
favored their father.

“
Pats, let’s not forget who
used to dance on the bar at those very same places.” Michael
smirked at her.

I arched one eyebrow at his
sister.

“
You’re confusing me with
your dates, Mike,” Pats scoffed. “I’m sure Nicci would appreciate
some of my stories.”

“
I’m sure I would,” I
agreed, trying to encourage her.

“
See?” She smirked at
Michael, who went back to the pool table and ignored us.

Pats leaned toward me in a
conspiratorial manner. “That’s a man for you; say something he
doesn’t want to hear and he tunes you out.”

Without taking his eyes off
his cue stick, Michael injected, “Wrong, Pats. I’m not Hank. He was
the only one that tuned you out, because you drove the man
crazy.”

Michael made a shot on the table and sunk
three balls at once.

I was impressed.

“
You better be careful of
that one.” Pats pointed to her brother. “He expects a lot of
special treatment all the time.”

“
No, Pats, you were the one
that expected the special treatment,” Michael countered, never
taking his eyes off the pool table.

He sank two more balls in a row.

“
It’s the same thing every
time they get in a room together,” Kathy confided. She had been
sitting quietly in George’s lap in a chair, next to the pool
table.

“
Yeah, we have been
listening to this same argument for years,” Leanne jumped in. “Who
got the most attention?” It was the first time she had spoken to me
all evening. “You tune it out, after a while,” she
added.

Leanne was the tiniest of
the Fagles women. She reminded me of a porcelain doll, with
jet-black hair, deep blue eyes, a small mouth, and creamy white
skin. She also had a rather sarcastic tone that came across as more
mischievous than vindictive.

“
I guess you can say that
Kathy and I have become experts at ignoring basically the entire
family,” Leanne articulated.

Kathy shook her head.
“Speak for yourself, Lee. You’re the one that ignores
everybody.”

I almost thought Leanne was
going to stick her tongue out at her sister, but instead she shot
back, “Right, I almost forgot. I’m not as perfect as you,
Kathy.”

“
You are such a baby,
Leanne,” Kathy retorted.

Leanne was grinning
maliciously. “Well, at least I don’t run off to the plastic surgeon
to correct every fault. How many times have you had your butt
sucked out?”

“
Now do you see why I don’t
come home that often?” Michael whispered to me.

My God, if this was a
casual family dinner, I could just imagine the holidays.

***

After a hasty departure
from his parents’ home, we arrived back at Michael’s and broke open
a bottle of champagne. After all the noise and shouting at his
parents’, I wanted to sit and enjoy the peace of the old
house.

“
You have quite a family,”
I remarked, sipping my champagne and resting my feet on the coffee
table.

“
Yeah, I hope they didn’t
scare you too badly.” He started nuzzling my ear.

“
Well, the entire evening
has given me a little more insight into you. I’m amazed you grew up
to be the way you are.”

“
Let’s just say, I spent my
entire youth waiting to get out of that house, and now that I’m an
adult, I never want to go back. Family get-togethers are tough for
me.”

“
I noticed you were very
quiet during dinner.”

“
I don’t like going home,
but let’s not talk about that.”

Michael put his arms around
me and turned me to face him. He pressed his cool lips against
mine, kissing me with gentle taps. I let his hands travel up and
down the front of my potato sack dress and then he started undoing
the buttons in front.

“
I’m not ready for this,” I
protested, jerking away.

He threw his hand up and
fell back against the sofa. “Nicci, when will you be ready? You
know, it’s getting harder and harder for me to bring you home with
just a good night kiss at the door.”

I started buttoning my
dress up. “I guess I’m just scared.”

“
Of what, honey? I won’t
hurt you.”

“
The last time.” I gazed
down at my hands. “I thought I meant something to him and it was
all a lie.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t
want to have to go through that again.”

“
I understand,” Michael
whispered, touching his forehead to mine. “I can wait.”

I wasn’t sure for how much
longer.

Chapter 21

The weeks started flying
by, and the days started getting warmer. I was occupied with school
and spending the evenings working on Michael’s house. I was getting
less and less sleep every night, and seeing even less of my
father.

Valentine’s Day came and
Michael took me to a trendy, expensive restaurant and gave me
two-dozen red roses. He even used the “L” word on his
card.

Happy V.D., Love, Michael.

Dad saw the note and complained about my
getting too involved with the shrink.

A week after that, Mardi Gras descended on
the city with all its fervor. By the time the first parade rolled,
I was in bed with a fever.

All the activity between
school and Michael’s renovations—along with very little rest—had
completely worn me out. I had lost weight and was physically
rundown. Michael came over and played doctor. He diagnosed
pneumonia, put me on antibiotics, and restricted me to bed for a
week. He even stayed in the guest bedroom for two nights to watch
over me.

He would read my
assignments to me so I didn’t fall behind in school, or run to the
store when I had cravings for ice cream. My father sat by and
watched as Michael came and went at all hours of the day and night.
I started to improve quickly, and within a few days, could sit up
on the sofa downstairs, watching television.

One night, I had just sent
Michael home and was going back up to bed when my father followed
me into my bedroom. He sat down on the edge of my bed and examined
me for several uncomfortable minutes.

“
Nicci, do you know what
you are doing?” he eventually spoke out. “This boy is in love with
you, but I don’t see the same gaze in your eyes for him as he has
for you.”

“
Dad, I’m very fond of
Michael and—”

“
But you don’t love him,”
he said, cutting me off. “We both know your heart is with someone
else.” He stood up next to the bed. “You have to make your own
decisions. If you choose to marry this boy, then I would go along
with it. However, I would have serious reservations about your
future happiness.”

“
I don’t know if I’m going
to marry Michael, or any man for that matter. Michael is good to
me, but it’s not serious.” I paused and took my father’s hand. “Why
are you always bringing up David? I have let go of him. Why can’t
you?”

“
You can’t fool me, kiddo.
You are not over David.”

I let go of his hand. “It’s
time I move on.”

“
Moving on to you means
finding someone else, maybe even marrying them.”

“
No.” I shook my head. “It
means leaving the past in the past and making a new future. Nothing
will ever be like it was with David.”

“
You mean no man will ever
be like David, and it doesn’t matter if you end up with the quack
or someone else.” Dad’s green eyes were filled with concern. “Just
think about a lifetime with someone you don’t love. That’s all I
ask.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind
him.

I didn’t have my father’s
faith in love. I was convinced it was time to move on. I had
accepted that fact, or at least I hoped I had.

***

As graduation approached, I
started interviewing at several area hospitals, but I found the job
market to be tough for new graduates with little experience. When
Michael found out about my dilemma, he told me about a position at
a small psychiatric hospital in his neighborhood and insisted I
apply. He said he could put in a good word for me. I was still not
particularly interested in working with psychiatric patients, but I
figured I would appease Michael and investigate the opportunity. I
reasoned that I could easily decline any offer I might receive,
without upsetting him.

On the afternoon I was to
interview at the psychiatric hospital, Michael came to my house and
picked out the appropriate outfit. He told me how much makeup to
put on and to pull my hair back in a simple ponytail. Once I was
ready, Michael drove me to the interview. He said he had some
business to take care of at hospital and could wait for me in the
lobby.

“
It will be fun,” he
affirmed. “After, you can tell me how your interview went. So I
won’t have to sit by the phone biting my fingernails.” He laughed.
I didn’t.

I soon found myself waiting
in a rather Spartan looking office. There were a few pieces of
well-worn, black and chrome furniture. Along the wall was an
assortment of posters, highlighting employee rules and benefits. A
stout, black-haired receptionist—who told me to call her
Ruby—escorted me into an adjoining office.